Wonder
by Lioness Black
Summary: [PostRent] Roger needs to be loved. He'll be loved by anyone. He wants to be loved by Mark.


Title: Wonder  
Author: Lioness Black  
Pairing: Mark/Roger  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: Roger needs to be loved. He'll be loved by anyone. He wants to be loved by Mark.  
Spoilers: General post-Rent variety.  
Warnings: mentioned character deaths.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, just good fun.

* * *

You need to be loved. You feel safe on a stage, knowing that hundreds of fans are adoring you, loving you. They may love your vocals, or your lyrics, or your ass, but they love you. You take what you can get. 

New York City. It's been a year since you've been here. You didn't mean to be gone for so long. Time slipped away from you, a week turned into a month, and a month... that's how it goes.

Sitting in the hotel room, you wonder where Mark is right now.

You wish that you could call up any of your old friends, but Mark was the one you _left_. Mark was the one you kept putting off calling until it was too late. You call now and it's weird. It's awkward.

Mark saved you.

Your need for love isn't simply adoration. You need a warm body next to you, a kiss good-bye. Knowing that someone who loves you is going to be there when you come home. Maybe that's why you didn't leave the house for so long after April. So afraid to leave without that kiss. So afraid to come back and be reminded that you're alone.

After Mimi died, you really can't handle it. You toss and turn in your bed. It feels cold and empty, even though Mimi rarely stayed there, you stayed with her downstairs. You feel tense. You wonder if you're having a panic attack. You can't breathe. You're going to die in your bed and no one will notice.

You climb out of bed and walk down the hall to Mark's room. You push open the door. It's dark, and you can't see anything, but you can hear his light snoring. You go over to the bed and crawl next to him.

"Roger?" he mutters.

"Is it okay if I stay here?" you ask.

He pauses. "Yeah, it's fine."

You feel him hesitate as you wrap your arms around him. If you stop breathing, he'll have to notice if you're holding him. You rest your head on his stomach, and you can hear all the gurgles and little popping sounds. After a moment he relaxes and rests a hand on the top of your head.

You instantly feel safe.

Looking back on it, you're not sure how it became what it became. You know you made the first move, you always made the first move.

It's an innocent kiss. You're facing him and he's facing you, and he's almost asleep, and you kiss him. You're not sure why you're doing it as you kiss him, your tongue finding it's way into his mouth, his jaw slacking with what's probably shock.

After what seems like an eternity of kissing him, he responds. His kiss isn't as fervent, but he's kissing you back. You both pull away at the same time.

You smile. "Night, Mark."

He blinks a few times and then smiles too. "Night, Roger."

In the mornings, you get out of bed, and things are as they always were. Mark makes coffee. You smoke a cigarette. Mark packs up his camera and goes to work (you can't recall where he was working then, someplace insignificant that paid the bills). You stay and play your stupid guitar.

Later on, those songs you wrote would be paying for the hotel you're sitting in right now.

Every night, you crawl into Mark's bed and you curl up against him, and kiss him, and touch him, and hold him, and are held by him. You've always loved Mark, not in such ways, but you've always loved him, and you love expressing love, though you've never expressed it like this to him. You love feeling as though Mark loves you too, and you know he does, and things are so complicated if you think about them too much, but they feel so simple when they're happening.

Mark never gets into bed with you (you haven't been in your bed in weeks), he never kisses or touches you first.

You pull Mark on top of you as you kiss, feeling his weight pressing against your body, he feels like security, protecting you.

You wonder what Mark is getting out of this. You're getting what you need to survive, but what could possibly make him go along with this?

That's when you feel it. Mark's erection against your leg. You suddenly don't feel so bad for dragging him into this. He's obviously enjoying it, at least to some degree.

You wonder...

You reach down and rub him through the fabric of his boxers. His eyes open and he stares down at you.

"Is this okay?" you ask. He doesn't respond, so you rub him again, and his eyes close. He licks his lower lip as he does after you've kissed him. You assume that he likes it.

He never says much.

You slip your hand inside his boxers. You can feel him hesitate, but he relaxes just as quickly. You wrap your hand around him and jerk him off. His eyes are closed tight, he's gasping, you can feel his hot breath on your neck.

Right now, in the hotel room, the memory is getting you hard.

When he's done, Mark rolls off of you. He lies there for a moment, panting, staring up at the ceiling. You wish you could read his mind.

He rests his hand on your stomach, and you jump. He never touches you first. You realize, though, that he's not. He's responding. His hand is sliding inside your own boxers, but you drop your hand on top of his.

"Don't," you say.

He stares at you, unsure if you're serious or not.

"That's not why I did that," you say. "I don't want... you've given me enough."

He continues to stare. You realize that might have sounded like you wanted to stop or you haven't been wanting this, and he's probably confused.

You move onto him and kiss him. If he was unsure, he should be sure now.

You start getting a few gigs. You're working again. It feels great. You're taking off a lot faster than you would have anticipated. You have a fanbase. You have girls, barely old enough to come into the clubs, coming to every one of your shows.

You get an agent. He's talking about record deals. He's talking about flying you to Los Angeles for a photoshoot for your album cover.

"Album cover?" you ask. "I don't have an album."

"You will, you will."

So you pack your belongings, and you're getting ready to leave. Mark presses a bottle into your hand. AZT. You have a nearly empty bottle in your pack. You didn't realize that Mark's budget afforded to refill it, maybe it doesn't, but you don't question.

"Thanks," you mutter. You're not sure what to say. You've never been very good at good-byes. You wish so much that Mark could come with you. You don't want to do this alone.

You lean down and kiss him. He responds to the kiss, hungry and eager. You're thankful. You're glad that the first kiss outside the confines of Mark's bed isn't awkward. Not before you're leaving.

"It's not forever," you mutter against his mouth. "Just a little while."

"I know," he says. He doesn't sound like he believes his own words.

"I'll be back."

"I know."

You want to tell him you love him, and not worry about what it means, because you love him so much. You're afraid he wouldn't understand.

Outside, the taxi horn blows and you jump.

"That's it," you say.

Mark grabs your wrist. He stares up into your eyes. "I love you too."

You kiss him one last time, quickly, and you hurry downstairs. You haven't seen him since. It's been a year. You talked on the phone a few times, but you got so busy. Everything happened so fast. You've been so far away.

Now you're back.

And you're a chickenshit.

You go to your gig. There are people everywhere. You scan the room for familiar faces, but you can only see the first few rows of people through the bright lights.

You play your songs, and you feel the comfort of the stage and the comfort of people adoring you. It's not the same as a kiss good night, but it works. It feeds the craving.

After the show, after almost everyone has left, you walk up to the bar for a drink, but you don't make it.

You're stopped by a blonde speeding bullet jumping in your arms, wrapping his legs around your waist, and kissing you. You're slammed against the nearest wall, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss him too. He pulls away and stares at you.

"Who are you?" you ask, a confused, happy smile growing on your lips, thinking of the guy who never made the first move.

"Don't you know?" he asks, pausing long enough to give you a wet kiss. "I'm your biggest fan."


End file.
